Wicked Saint: Sinners and Saints Book 1

by Eden, Veronica

  Without saying anything else, I leave the room. The door bangs behind me when I yank it shut. I stand outside in the hallway, flexing my hands.

  Why does she still think the worst of me? Did I not save her damn life tonight?

  I hang in the hallway, waiting for my erection to go away. The wild sounds of people having a good time drift upstairs.

  I press my palms to the door frame and hang my head as I listen to Gemma rustle around the room. When it goes quiet, I assume she got in my bed to go to sleep.

  Twenty-Three

  Gemma

  It’s warm when I wake up to the sun peeking through tree branches outside the window.

  My head swims for a second and I struggle through disorientation when I find myself in a strange bed and a room that isn’t mine. The shelf of football trophies makes last night come back to me in a rush. I drag in air and flop against the blue sheets.

  All of my muscles twinge in protest.

  The sun is bright as it peeks over the horizon. The storm clouds driven away in the night.

  Lancelot is curled against my thigh, snoring. A smile breaks free as I reach to stroke his back. He stretches and falls asleep again.

  The other side of the bed is warm and unkempt, but empty. A discarded Rocky Mountain State Park t-shirt drapes over the end of the bed.

  I bite my lip. I remember waking up at one point when it was still dark. I don’t know if it was one of those dreams that feel real or not, but strong arms surrounded me, holding me close against a solid bare chest.

  Did Lucas sleep with me?

  I’m still wearing everything he gave me last night. I slide my legs against the soft sheets and worry my lip with my teeth.

  My body still prickles with an undercurrent of something. It’s a restlessness that seeks satisfaction. Even the sheets against my skin feels nice.

  Last night was a lot.

  I don’t know what made me stop. It felt good in the heat of the moment. A deep need settled in my gut and I kind of wanted to give into more. But then when Lucas voiced it…I don’t know. It was like being in the storm again, rain dumping down on us.

  Lancelot grouses when I get out of bed.

  “I’d cuddle with you all day if I could, bud.” I stretch my arms overhead and my spine realigns with a satisfying pop. A tender ache lingers in my body. I actually slept pretty great for the insane night I had. The bed is really comfortable. I could sleep longer, but not here. “I’ve got to get home.”

  I hover at the end of the bed for a minute. My clothes aren’t on the bathroom floor, I can see the bare tile through the open door. I don’t know if I should go downstairs in what I have on, or if I should try to find something else.

  The mirror across the room catches my attention. I decide hell yes I need more clothes on right now. God, I don’t even want to think about how I look wearing Lucas’ oversized t-shirt and boxers.

  Not only that, there are mild bruises visible on my thighs and arms.

  My palms are still red, but not as sore as last night when the scrapes were fresh. I don’t know which of the bruises are from trying to climb over the downed tree or from Lucas digging his fingers in my skin.

  As I look for something to wear, I poke around his room. It’s as big as the master bedroom at my house, with cedar accents and a rustic mountain style. The wood floors are mostly covered by a large gray and blue patterned plush area rug. The big window has a bench seat beneath it, where a couple of books have been left.

  There’s a desk next to the window, beneath the trophy-packed shelves. There are some sketch pads. I lean in to get a closer look at the Instax prints pinned to the cork board. In one Lucas is on his boat with Devlin and Connor Bishop. There are a few others—Lucas and Lancelot at the peak on a hike, Lucas and Marissa in their sports uniforms and on the beach at a lake.

  A squirrelly feeling skitters through me. Frowning, I read the trophy plaques to distract myself. They all say Lucas Saint, quarterback, and the year. They date back to when he was a kid.

  I find a big hoodie in the corner to pull on along with a pair of silver basketball shorts. I have to tie the drawstring tight and roll them a few times so they don’t fall down. Most of the bruises are hidden. The hoodie comes almost to my knees and hangs over my hands, but it’s warm and smells nice. Because I’m alone, I press the neckline to my nose and sniff, smiling.

  Feeling a hundred percent better with more clothes on, I creep downstairs to raid the kitchen for coffee. The house is still and quiet.

  I like mornings. The hush that stretches as the world wakes up is peaceful.

  People sleep all over in puppy piles. I come off the bottom step and take in the remnants of the party. It’s like a Titian painting of a bacchanal.

  I tiptoe through the room and pause when I come around the corner to the open kitchen. Lucas is there, shirtless. He’s the only other person up. He holds a steaming mug in front of his face as he watches me.

  The world seems to hiccup to a stop around us as I stare back at him, my heart tripping over itself.

  The aroma of fresh brewed coffee calls to me.

  Gathering myself, I shuffle into the kitchen. Lucas’ attention flicks down to his SLHS Coyotes hoodie I have on. His hoodie.

  It’s different when I have to face him wearing his clothes. Heat fills my face.

  When I slip past him to look for a coffee mug, he plays with the ends of my hair.

  My hunt for a mug stops when Lucas sets his cup down with a clink and corals me against the counter. I turn to face him. He plants his hands on either side of the granite, his forearms flexing as his head dips.

  Lucas looks at me, eyes hooded, and lets out a rough, sleepy hum that pierces into my stomach and makes warmth pool there.

  Between the hoodie and having Lucas close to me, his scent surrounds me. I’m lost in the foggy water with no way out. The only way forward is to cling to Lucas and hope he won’t drown me.

  The dream-memory that hovered on the edge of reality clarifies. He definitely held me in his arms last night.

  “Morning,” I say in a hush. “Uh, did you take my clothes?”

  He grunts and presses his hips against mine, trapping me against the counter. I’m pulled in opposite directions by my head and my heart.

  “I like the way your lips pout when you’re asleep.”

  He traces my mouth as he tells me this. That one small touch earns a throb between my legs.

  The pounding of my heart rushes in my ears. My skin is still alive with that unsatisfied sensation and everything feels supercharged. It makes me a little dizzy.

  “Are you mine?” Lucas asks in a low rumbling voice. “I want you to give all of yourself to me.”

  My breath leaves me so fast it scrapes at my throat. I feel like I’m locked in a tractor beam, drawing me closer and closer to kissing Lucas. I swallow.

  This goes against my whole plan. I didn’t know it would be so hard to fight Lucas. I didn’t know he could affect me so much.

  I picture it for a second, how his lips would descend over mine in another possessive onslaught if I gave in. If I was with Lucas, it would stop the ridiculous bullying. I’d be pulled into his circle.

  Carter Burns couldn’t mess with me because I’d be untouchable. Protected by Lucas.

  I’d be his.

  For that brief second, it makes me happy to imagine. Until reality sets in.

  “No,” I answer in a raspy whisper.

  Lucas tenses, his thumb still swiping my lip. A muscle twitches in his cheek.

  There’s a wildness ebbing off of him in waves that puts me on edge. I don’t know what he’s going to do.

  The high tension between us is sliced by the loud tone of the phone ringing.

  Some people in the living room moan in grumbling protests for the interruption to their sleep, dragging them to the surface to face their hangovers.

  Lucas peels away from me to answer his phone and I’m left alone trying to calm the rabbity jump of
my heartbeat.

  His voice is deep and direct as he talks on the phone. I turn around and steal his half-finished coffee instead of finding a mug in the numerous cabinets. I fill the mug with the pot from the fancy coffee maker and raid his fridge for cream.

  “Thanks. I’ll send people out once you let me know it’s safely cleared.”

  Lucas hangs up and reaches automatically for his mug, finding it in my hands instead as I take a sip. His eyes narrow. Wordlessly, he retrieves a new mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker and pours coffee, drinking it black.

  “They’re working on clearing the road. Someone will call when it’s safe to drive on it again.”

  “So…everyone’s stuck here until then?”

  His mouth twitches.

  “Yup.” Lucas pops the ‘p’ and watches me over the rim of his mug as he drinks. “You’re stranded here with me.”

  That Bear Grylls escape through the wilderness I thought of in the heat of the moment last night is looking pretty good right now.

  Twenty-Four

  Lucas

  It takes around eight hours for the road to clear.

  The novelty of the forced stranding wore off fast for most people. Except Devlin, who always hangs around until I need to kick him back across the lake.

  At least when it’s from a blizzard, there’s the charm of fresh snow and snowball fights to keep busy.

  Reception can be spotty in the mountains. The community has cell boosters, but I don’t give out my WiFi to everyone that parties at my house.

  Most people hung around my property all day in clumps. There were around fifty people stranded, hovering near those that had better reception to check in with their parents and entertain themselves with social media. A local hashtag trended: #SOSatSaints.

  My Instagram feed was blowing up with a bunch of posts with the tag.

  I didn't have enough food in the house to feed everyone. The boat was out of gas, too, so I couldn’t go to Devlin’s for more. We have a rowboat, but I hate that thing.

  People were getting on my nerves. It was more intense to keep my mask in place in my own house when there wasn’t a party going.

  All I wanted was to go back to my room with Gemma, but she stayed out of sight along with her brother.

  By the time they've taken care of the mudslide and downed tree, everyone peels off in a line of cars.

  I’m glad to see them all go.

  All except one person.

  I snag Gemma around the waist when Alec says he’s got everything. They’re the last two people here. Even Devlin left.

  She’s still in my hoodie and shorts as the late afternoon sun cuts across the lake. We’re on the back deck munching on the frozen pizza I shoved in the oven an hour ago. Alec snags another slice.

  “That’s getting old,” Gemma shoots over her shoulder.

  “Not to me.” I drag her into my lap on the Adirondack chair and offer her a bite of my pizza. She sighs and accepts. “I think you should stay.”

  Alec’s brows jump up. Gemma’s follow suit. It’s funny how they both have the same expressions sometimes.

  “Um,” Gemma drawls. “Crazy guy say what?”

  She looks like the indignant meme of the guy blinking in disbelief.

  “Stay here with me.”

  “Why?”

  I mutter in her ear so Alec doesn’t hear. “Because if you don’t, I’m just going to follow you home and drag you back here. I’m not ready to let you go. Keep your window unlocked for me, okay?”

  Gemma punches my shoulder without much force. I dip my fingers into the pant leg of the basketball shorts and trace her skin.

  When she shivers at my touch, the thrill of success buzzes on the tip of my tongue.

  Gemma tries to disagree in silence and I answer her back with a face of my own. We have an entire conversation with nothing but our faces and hands.

  “Wow.” Alec has an accusatory undertone as he addresses us. “You guys have silent communication down. How long have you been fucking my sister, dude?”

  “Alec!” Gemma struggles out of my lap, scowling at me when I won’t let her go. I release her with my hands up. She charges into her brother’s face, steering him back despite the height he has on her. She’s a little spitfire and it makes an ember burn in my chest. “I am not sleeping with him. We’ve kissed.”

  That’s not all of it, but I’m not going to admit that to her brother. I’m definitely not telling him about fingering her in the student lot. I already felt shitty about that conversation with Carter in front of Alec.

  “After we got you to the room last night, Gemma took off.” My attention slides to her for a second. I still want to know what the hell happened to put her in that state of terror. “I went after her in the rain. That’s how we found out about the blocked road. Gemma almost crashed your car into it.”

  “You didn’t tell me any of that,” Alec says to Gemma, his hands on her shoulders. “Holy shit, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It was—yeah. Lucas brought me back here.”

  Gemma quiets for a second, lost in thought. She brushes her hand over a bruise on her leg peeking out from the bottom of the shorts. She glances at me.

  There it is. She doesn’t know how to explain those to her family. I’ve got her.

  I give her a subtle nod.

  She frowns and squeezes her eyes shut. “Okay. Alec, tell Mom and Dad you dropped me off at Blair’s for the weekend.”

  “What? Why?” Alec is out of our loop. “They’d lecture you about your lunatic driving, but as long as you’re not hurt they won’t be too hard on you.” A foreboding flash of jealousy crosses his face. “Besides, they never yell at you anymore.”

  Interesting. Maybe that’s why he first went along with us hounding Gemma. If I had a sister, I’m pretty sure I’d die for her before I let guys harass her the way the ones at Silver Lake High have.

  “Just do it! Cover for me and I’ll owe you one.”

  Alec pins Gemma with a suspicious look. He flicks it over to me. “If you hurt my sister, you’re dead. You know that, right?”

  I almost snort. Gemma has enough fire in her to crush my balls before Alec gets wind of anything. I’d never hurt her, anyway. At least not in any way she doesn’t ask me to.

  Gemma rolls her eyes and pushes him to the steps that lead down to the open yard.

  “Okay, Mr. Misplaced Chivalry. Quit going through the motions and get out of here.”

  She leans in and mutters something to him I don’t hear.

  After Alec drives away, Gemma turns around. I pat my lap and she passes me to collapse into the other Adirondack chair.

  “Give me more pizza.” She fiddles with the hoodie strings and shifts in the seat. The sun reflects off the water below and paints her in golden hues. “I can’t believe you. This feels like entrapment.”

  “You chose it.”

  “Only because you threatened to break into my window to kidnap me again, like the psycho monster you are.”

  “Critical damage.” I hold a hand over my chest and pretend to die.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re like a final boss. You never stay down.”

  We trade lighthearted bickering as the sun dips lower.

  For the next two days, Gemma is mine.

  * * *

  We stay up late.

  I haven’t allowed her out of my sight all day, even when she went down to sit on the end of the dock to take photos after we finished the pizza. Lancelot follows her, leaning against her side.

  I’ve been gradually chipping away at her wariness all night until she allows me to touch her freely. She let me check her scraped palms to apply more ointment. They’re looking good, the redness fading with the healing abrasions. The bruises dotting her body will take more time, some of them an angry purple with yellow edges. There are finger shaped ones from where I grabbed her.

  I made her late night pancakes. It’s one of the few things I know how to cook. She sat on the count
er with her legs dangling, kicking to the Spotify playlist I turned on in the background. My demanding little spitfire claimed every tiny pancake made from extra batter splattering in the pan when I poured. I slid between her open knees and fed her, teasing my fingers past her lips as I held eye contact.

  She looked cute as hell perched on the countertop, wearing my hoodie, her honey-colored hair up in a messy bun. Blushing because she licked my fingers clean as I offered her baby pancakes.

  A sense of rightness settles in my chest having her here. Like something’s clicked into place that was missing.

  It’s past midnight now. We retreated to my bedroom after I chased her around the house, grinning at her protests followed by the gleam in her eye right before she darted out of reach. She liked the game as much as I did. She likes it when I hunt her down. I won when I picked her up and tossed her over my shoulder. She shrieked when I smacked her ass as I carted her to the stairs.

  Gemma hasn’t said anything about the sleeping situation. If she tries to argue about spending another night in my bed, she’ll find herself tied to the bed posts with my school tie.

  The mental image pulls heat into my groin. God, I love tying her up. It’s the face she gives me, the stubborn jut of her chin.

  After I set her down, I collapse on the floor in front of my TV and turn on the game system. She pads across the room barefoot and I snag her wrist to drag her into my lap.

  Gemma twists to peer at me over her shoulder. “Do you have some fetish for me sitting in your lap?”

  She’s still wearing my clothes and it’s driving me fucking wild. My arms snake around her waist, skimming underneath the hoodie to press into the warm skin of her stomach.

  “You tell me.” I trace patterns on her skin and her lashes flutter. I press my face to the back of her shoulder. “Call of Duty or Mario Kart?”

  “Mario Kart. Prepare to have your ass kicked,” Gemma crows. “I’m reigning champ in the Turner household.”

  “We’ll see about that.”